Author: zora

Like I’ve Been Saying…

The New York Times magazine this week has a short interview with poet laureate Charles Simic. About whom I had no opinion until now:

What advice would you give to people who are looking to be happy?
For starters, learn how to cook.

Also, recently read in the NYT book review, Michael Pollan articulating my concern with current food media:

On NPR’s “Talk of the Nation” a few weeks ago, Pollan deplored the “heroic” cooking on many food shows. “They make it look really hard,” he said. “You know, it’s like watching too much pornography. You think that that’s how sex is done, and it’s kind of intimidating.”

I’ve been meaning to write a little essay on that very problem, but have not gotten to it. I think I’ve been stuck on identifying the culinary equivalent of the Brazilian bikini wax. Thanks, Pollan, as usual, for being succinct and smart.

Breaking: New York Times Caught in a Lie!

This is totally shady: The NYT has a new column called “One Pot,” with a recipe for some international stew. This week’s was for a Spanish stew called a cocido. I read the column, and spent a lot of time on the first two paragraphs, confused, because there was no transition between the use of the word ‘cocido’ and then an explanation of a new term, ‘olla poderida’. It seemed like something had gotten lost in the editing.

Turns out it was the TRUTH that got lost in the editing. I was alerted by the ever-trusty and -geeky Language Log, which pointed out that the term should be ‘olla podrida’, which really means ‘rotten pot’…in a good way. When questioned, the writer freely admitted she had just made up ‘olla poderida’ (‘strong pot’) because she thought eaders would be creeped out by the word ‘rotten’. Read the whole expose here, along with more details on ‘rotten’ food.

This is kind of shocking, no? I mean, it’s a newspaper. It’s supposed to be factual. I feel betrayed.

I think Elaine Louie should go back to her little Weddings beat, and if the editors can’t give enough space to a story to properly explain something (‘rotten’ can be used as an emphatic, along the lines of ‘filthy rich’–that wasn’t so hard to take, now was it?), then it just shouldn’t run the story. I hate to think what’s happening to the real news.

Back in Astoria, and Loving It

I got over my post-patisserie-collapse trauma and went to the new Thai place, Leng, that has taken over the space at 33-09 Broadway. We were supposed to go to the new Philoxenia, which took over the space that was, for a brief and shining moment, the fantastic Peruvian bar. But it was closed on Monday (disregard what newyorkmag.com says on the subject!). Nonetheless, our friend Jenn walked into someone’s apartment upstairs by accident, asking “Is this the restaurant?” and they said, “No, but do you want some of this lamb?” Classy. And classic Astoria.

Anyway, the Thai: Whaddya know–that storefront goes back for miles, and there’s even a yard. I had to admit that the patisserie had just not been using the place to its full potential. It looks gorgeous inside (“Mob money laundering,” hissed Tamara; “Uh, underwriting from the Thai government’s food promotion program?” I countered hopefully), although the waste-not-want-not part of me cringes when I see huge jars of spices being used as decoration. I had to keep telling myself, They’re pretty. They grow on trees. No biggie. Just breathe deep. They are really gorgeous.

And while the food is no Sripraphai (but what is?) it’s certainly a lot better than any other Thai place in Astoria. Fo’ instance, there is actual ground rice on the beef salad, as should be standard for a larb. I love that gritty crunch. The steamed dumpling apps had some powerful flavors in–I was expecting them to be dull, but no. Unfortunately, I’m a bad reviewer because this was essentially my first time seeing everyone since my month away, so I got a little distracted. Oh, and good grilled eggplant.

The other thing I do remember: the humongo slab of Junior’s cheesecake for dessert. Not traditional, but so what? Turns out the owner is Jewish. Thai-Indian-Chinese-Jewish, as far as I understood. She said to us, “That’s why I’m always asking, ‘Do you have enough food? Are you comfortable?'” Portions are indeed mega-size, and the cushions are comfy, and she is truly hilarious and hospitable. And she has adorable photos of her mother and father on the wall (not the king of Thailand, as you usually get).

A huge bonus: It’s BYO. At least for now.

So–I highly recommend. It’s good to be back in the hood.

Also, happy to see Ali interviewed over on Joey in Astoria…

NZ/Oz: The Good Stuff

So, before it all totally filters out of my memory…

What to Eat and Drink in Australia and New Zealand:

1) Chocolate
Whittaker’s Peanut Slab is deliciously salty peanuts in totally forgettable milk chocolate–sweet and salty, all you need, and available at every 7-11 (there are lots of 7-11s–why?). Also, Bennett’s of Mangawhai Passionfruit Chocolate Bar is also light on actual chocolate sensation–but who cares, when there’s the magical passionfruit flavor? In fact, what am I thinking?…

2) Passionfruit
This should have been item #1. Sure, I already loved the stuff going in. But it’s amazing that you can get it anywhere, usually fresh, un-messed-with pulp, with the slippery little seeds still in. Especially delish on creamy yogurt. Which you can also get anywhere. I also learned that the ‘what-kind-of-muffin-is-this’ signifier for passionfruit is a little arrangement of the black seeds in the frosting on top. Which boggles me that a whole part of the world could be so blase about passionfruit that they don’t even need to put signs next to it saying, “OMG, this is the most amazing flavor ever!”

3) Coffee
Actually, no–this should’ve been item #1. I don’t even really drink coffee, and I drank coffee every single damn day of our vacation (at US$3-ish a pop…ouch). And this was after we’d been in Portland, and pretty impressed with the java there. In NZ and Oz, it’s all espresso-based (no American-style drip), and you get the fun of ordering a ‘flat white’ (midway between a latte and a cappuccino, with very little foam), or perhaps, if you’re feeling tough, a ‘long black’ (Americano). But I think it’s the super-delicious dairy that makes the coffee especially palatable. And the beans aren’t viciously roasted away to nothing. I was depressed at the thought of coming back to Starbucksland. But I guess my stomach lining thanks me.

4) Splashy dinner at Capitol restaurant, in Wellington
Next door to the classy redone cinema in the center of town–we had rack of lamb, of course. And some perfectly good fish. But the lamb was really the standout.

5) Seafood up the wazoo
“Life is too short to bother with bad seafood,” said my pitying LP editor over dinner, after I’d lamented the state of seafood in NYC (ie, you can get anything, but no guarantee it will taste like much). Easy for her to say, when fat, succulent mussels are practically jumping out of the ocean (especially good in NZ), and shrimp are scampering onto your plate, and the barramundi is blinking at you in a beguiling way. Damn. Oh, and those scallops at the Peter Gordon restaurant (dine) in Auckland. With I guess their roe still attached? Little quivering bits of briny sweetness, they were.

6) Mangosteen
Just because I, as an American, can. We can’t eat them here in the US because of some vile pest they carry, allegedly, but I have to read articles all the time about how transporting, exotic and thoroughly unique the flavor of this tropical fruit is. So when we went to Cabramatta, an allegedly divey suburb of Sydney (we’d asked our hostess to show us the bad part of town), and I saw a box of mangosteens for sale at the Vietnamese produce hall, I had to get them. Even though the price worked out to about US$2 per fruit, and the woman seemed slightly insincere when she said they were all ripe. Indeed, only about three of the eight or so golf-ball-size guys wound up being edible–and with six small slivers of only succulent fruit inside each one, the price per bite wound up being staggeringly high. But fine. They were pretty delicious, if not as delicious as passionfruit. And I feel like I’ve crossed another thing off my abstract ‘taste every flavor in the world’ list.

7) $6 steak at the pub
Peter and I were getting steadily more dismayed at the crazy first-world prices. We’re just not used to paying more than, say, 80 cents for a midday snack. But we also wondered how so-called normal people can afford to leave their houses in Australia. Even once you consider that, say, a waiter gets paid about A$18 per hour, and so an A$3.50 coffee isn’t too gross an expense, there still didn’t appear to be any reasonably priced restaurants.

And then, on our very last full day, after a long and glorious and soaking-wet bike ride around drizzly Sydney, we were sitting around the living room of our bike host and guide, Lynn of CTA, and he simply said, “Wanna go over to the pub for five-dollar steaks?” Like everyone in the world knew about this phenomenon. Well, I immediately thought of those nasty Tad’s steak places here in NYC, and the current state of undervalued factory-farm beef. Peter might’ve looked a little skeptical too, because Lynn said, “No, they’re really good steaks.” Later, as we were tucking into our massive slabs of beef, chargrilled a perfect medium-rare, Lynn explained that all the profits from the pub’s slot machines basically underwrite the food–it’s just a loss leader to get the crowds, and bring whole families in. A brilliant system. I’d love to eat at more restaurants with a Big Buck Hunter game and giant-screen TVs, if they were as good and cheap as this neighborhood pub Maroubra.

8) Oysters at the pub
Oh yeah. Got some of these too. Salty and also creamy, in a way I’ve never had oysters be before. And cheap.

9) Coffee at the kiosk at the top of Bent Street in Sydney’s CBD
I know I already mentioned coffee, but this bears special emphasis. At this tiny little place, where we stopped near the end of our soaking-wet bike odyssey, I watched the barista, a smooth-talking Brazilian, chat up a woman while he made her espresso. Then he looked at the coffee and frowned. “Oh, no,” he said. “This one’s no good. I’m throwing this away.” I thought it was a ploy to talk to the woman longer, but Peter said, “He did that with my coffee too.” No crema, no sale, baby. This kiosk happens to be the bike courier’s top choice as well–no coincidence.

I think that might have to be all. My mind is a sieve. I am now starving. And we have no groceries in the house whatsoever. I am deeply uninspired at the thought of going to the store and seeing all the straight-from-Chile produce and the shrink-wrapped meat.

I nearly made Peter choke the other night when I said, “I’m thinking of going vegetarian for a while.” The same way I can’t really get excited about drinking coffee here, I also can’t get too thrilled about eating nasty, nasty meat in the US. I can’t apply that sort of existential despair to produce and dairy (both of which were so much better over there on the other side of the world), or else I’d starve. I’ll muddle through. But I sure could use a flat white, or a half-dozen oysters, right now.

NZ/Oz

Well, before everyone starts anticipating too much, I’d better post _something_.

I recently read that Chuck Thompson, surly author of an expose of the hollow soul of the travel writing industry, characterized New Zealand as “a junior-varsity version of the Pacific Northwest.”

I’m never one to encourage Americans to stay home and keep their worldview narrow, but, uh, New Zealand doesn’t seem to have anything that Oregon doesn’t. Hobbits, maybe? Oh, wait, no: glowworm caves. We totally failed to see this natural phenomenon, and also penguins. In fact, we didn’t really manage to see much of anything nature-y in New Zealand, nor we did appreciate its cities much because everyone was on holiday. Auckland especially felt like the H-bomb had hit.

Australia was a lot livelier, sunnier and full of people we knew. We did a whirlwind tour of three cities, interrupted by a 16-hour train ride that prompted our Ozzie friends to say, “Good on ya for taking the train!” and then just look completely puzzled.

Perhaps it’s easier to analyze the trip in terms of…quelle surprise…food. Here, a tidy list:

What NOT to Eat and Drink in Australia and New Zealand (not to start with the negative–it’s just easier to get the short list out of the way first):

1) A lamb sandwich from Subway.
Well, duh, you’re saying–why eat at Subway at all? But it was 8am, and we were about to get on a 12-hour train ride. Subway was the only thing open, and Peter said the photo was very appealing. And what could be more local than lamb in New Zealand? Well, the meat was fine (thin-sliced, rare, like roast beef), but too bad about the hideously sweet mint sauce.

2) A meat pie in a plastic crinkly bag.
Purchased in the same desperate move as the Subway sub. Glutinous and terrifying. Not a fair introduction to the genre of meat pie at all.

3) Abalone fritter
I could go either way on this one. It didn’t taste actually bad. But it was black, which was disturbing. I guess I never knew abalone meat was black. I wanted to order something aside from the usual fish and chips, and use a Maori word (paua?) while I was at it. Halfway through the fritter, I got distracted by the silver-haired 60-year-old woman in black rocker skinny-leg jeans who walked into the fish shop, in bare feet. No one in NZ seems to wear shoes. Britney Spears: there’s a place for you.

4) Dog food
Again, obvious–but weirdly tempting. I didn’t actually eat the stuff, but I was staggered at the selection of fresh dog food in the grocery store: big plastic tubs of fresh meat chunks, and long rolls, like the kind breakfast sausage comes in but much bigger, of really hefty meaty stuff. Kiwi dogs must be the best-fed in the world. That was some of the most appealing-looking food in the whole supermarket, for any species.

5) Hot food on Australia’s long-distance trains
Wow. We haven’t eaten such substandard food since the bad old days of airplane cuisine–and this stuff (butter chicken, beef lasagne) didn’t even come on nifty sectional trays. Oh, and thanks to the grossly weak US dollar, it was expensive to boot. Probably while I was busy chewing the tasteless stuff, I missed seeing a kangaroo. Thanks for nothing, Country Link.

6) Lumps
Another thing I could honestly go either way on. These pineapple-flavored marshmallow, chocolate-enrobed Australian candy bars are just plain weird. At first bite, it feels like you’re starting in on a long and loving relationship with a piece of chewing gum. Next thing you know, the stuff is slithering down your throat. There’s the barest soupcon of pineapple in there somewhere.

Hmm. I told you it was a short list. The positive stuff will come tomorrow…

Cranky Old Man Post #43,267

ezMore on my current travel experiences in a bit, but first I just want to say:

Current models of the Easy-Bake Oven are styled on the outside to look like a microwave oven.

That’s so retarded and marks the downfall of society in such a ghastly way that I can’t even think what else to say.

Best of Queens 2007: Vote!

This isn’t shameless self-promotion: Weirdly, I didn’t make the list. There’s always next year to become a one-woman phenomenon.

In the meantime, head over to queens.about.com and vote for the best things to happen to Queens this year. Ali of the Kabab Cafe appearing on No Reservations makes the list, but he’s lagging in the polls! I suspect there’s some ballot-stuffing coming from Jamaica’s art community (um–if it’s not at the public library in Jamaica, then I don’t know about it!).

While you’re there, you can also vote for the worst of Queens 2007. Living in my blissful utopia in central Astoria, within the glow of two 24-hour produce stands, I also have never heard of any of these terrible things. La-di-da.

Happy new year!

Christvertising

Hot on the heels of off-topic discussion of the Thighble and the Pentaturkey comes Christvertising–not just a genius portmanteau word, but a hot new marketing movement!

I am so out of touch with the rest of America–that scary part of America that’s taking Huckabee and Romney seriously, according to all the godless news sources I follow–that I found myself believing this was a true service. Never mind that I received the link from Mr., er, Dr. Van Pelt himself. But it’s not so far-fetched that he would take a job as a spokesman for a Christian marketing service. I’d better get out more.